Page 32 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
Underneath the Christmas tree is even more stuffed than before—when we got back from shopping, we all took turns wrapping our gifts with one of the three rolls of wrapping paper Erik and Jody brought.
I talk to my parents for a while (Dad and I carefully stay away from financial topics) as people filter in. Bea and Naomi are the last to come down, and when I spot Bea, I’m struck all over again by how gorgeous she is.
Her hair is up in a tight bun, winged eyeliner makes her eyes look even bigger than they are, and a berry lipstick colors her mouth. Her ankle is feeling a lot better, and she was able to walk normally today, though she still iced it and propped it up, so she’s wearing ballet flats instead of heels. She’s in a simple garnet dress, one that accentuates her waist and has a neckline that cuts across her collarbones...against which a familiar necklace lies.
I freeze. That’s the necklace I gave her. The last gift before we broke up.
Bea doesn’t meet my eyes, and in fact, refuses to look at me as we get herded out the door by Jody, who frets about being late. She pulls Naomi, Yvette, and Lance into her rental car, so I load into my parents’ Suburban.
Why is she wearing that necklace? She has a great job and dresses for work all the time. I’m sure she has nicer jewelry than a piece that twenty-year-old me could afford.
Why does she even still own it?
Unless...I look at that necklace and can’t think of anything but our breakup. What if she does the same? What if she’s wearing this necklace to remind herself of how awful the implosion was?
“You okay back there, baby boy?”
Mom’s question pulls me out of my thoughts. I’ve been staring—well, glaring, probably—out the car window at the snow-covered woods and buildings passing by.
“Fine. Why?”
My parents exchange a glance, and I’m glad it’s just the three of us in the car.
There’s a beat of silence, and then Mom pokes Dad, who sighs. “Have you been spending any time with Bea?”
“Some,” I say carefully.
“That’s good. Just, uh. Be careful there.”
Mom turns in the passenger seat to face me behind her. “We just love you both so much and don’t want either of you to get hurt. I feel a change in your aura. And I noticed the necklace.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Me too.”
We pull into a slanted parking spot on Main Street a few blocks from the restaurant. They’ve put our big, loud party in a back room and given us two servers. I’m across from Bea, and that means that the whole evening, over platters of spring rolls and steaming bowls of ph?, I can see every time she touches the pendant.
Like her sister touching her stomach, Bea has a far-off look when she does it, and to me, it feels like every time she touches the pendant, the string between us grows longer and she gets further and further away.
Until the staff pulls the dishes away and all that’s left are our drinks and banana pudding and conversation, and Bea catches me staring at her. Her fingers freeze on the necklace, and after a beat, she lowers it to her chest, her gaze warming and her fingers touching it, not absentmindedly, but reverently.
Beneath the table, something nudges my leg. I stretch my foot out and our shoes align, heel to toe, and Bea smiles at me.
16
Bea
It’stime for the secret Santa gifts. We crowd around the living room after getting home from the restaurant. Jasper passes out a tray of sugar cookies and jam prints even though wejusthad dessert, and my dad pours spiked hot cocoas or coffees for anyone who wants one.
The fireplace is crackling and radiating heat, and Lance turns the Christmas tree lights on. It’s a Norman Rockwell painting, but with more booze and grown-ass adults.
At the cute little gift shop in town, they had mulberry jam, one of my dad’s favorites. The rest of the town was, uh,interesting. It’s charming, for sure. But, while we were in town, I needed to buy some lipstick—I’d forgotten to pack the shade that I wanted—and couldn’t find anything close to the quality I get in the city. I also didn’t bump into nearly as many cute men my age as I was hoping. A quick flip through Tinder showed me it was slim pickings. Were they just not on dating apps? Or on different ones, like that farmer dating app?
Everyone in town was really nice though, and I got several compliments on my outfit.
I’d also stopped at a real estate office to look at the listings in the window. I had swooned over a two-story colonial listed at $150 per square foot until I’d noticed that it was on two acres of property. Could I picture myself on a riding lawn mower? No.
Meanwhile, I saw the look on Charlie’s face when I came down the stairs, and the way he watched me over dinner. Several times I caught him staring at my chest—not at my boobs, which look amazing, by the way, but Iknowhe was staring at the necklace.
Is it wishful thinking that Charlie is more attentive this year? I want so badly for him to be the kind of man I want, but he’s not. He’s still a workaholic, he’s still driven and focused. There’s no way he’d move out of the city. He just got there.
